


A Moment With You

by mariana333



Category: Original Work
Genre: Attempt at Humor, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-10
Updated: 2019-01-10
Packaged: 2019-10-07 18:32:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17371136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariana333/pseuds/mariana333
Summary: It started with an egg. What more can I say?





	A Moment With You

It only takes one moment to change the course of your life. One singular instant to set it into motion, on a path you weren't even aware was an option. You don't expect it. Because how could you? Sometimes you don't even notice there was a moment, until you're looking back on your life years later, and you're suddenly able to pinpoint that it was there, on that particular completely unspectacular day that you never gave another thought to until now. My moment came on an unassuming cloudless day, the sun hanging high in the sky, winking down on me. My moment began with a boy, a new dress, and an egg.

* * *

Picture eight year old me, in all my red haired, green eyed glory. Innocent to a fault, a perfectly cheerful child. Now picture me in my brand new hot pink summer dress, my most recent favourite thing since just this morning. Mama bought it for me with the intent that I only wear it on special occasions. But I loved it so much already. So I resorted to begging and cajoling her, spending entire minutes, _minutes_! Of my life trying to convince her. She eventually relented, but only under the condition that I better not get that dress dirty, or it was no desserts for a week! I resolved to be very careful, because my precious dessert was on the line. And what is life without dessert? I cheered and promised her, before escaping into the backyard to play.

I was twirling, giggling to myself as my dressed plumed up, and fell back down with all the grace of a fairy tale princess. I felt like I _was_ a princess, waiting for my very own fairy tale moment. I practically lived with my head in the clouds on most days, dreaming of the fantastical. Waiting for my magical princess moment, like Cinderella meeting her godmother, or Ariel finding her prince.

My head was yanked right out of my imagination cloud when I heard a loud shout from just over the tall wooden fence. I scowled. The neighbour boy was always so loud. I'd never met him, but he was always hooting and hollering from over yonder, with what sounded like his accompanying pack of barbarians. Hmph. He was certainly no prince charming. I never usually gave him much thought. But on _that_ day.

I foolishly glanced over at the fence, fully intending to glare a hole through it. I should have been looking up. Because out of the clear blue sky, an object was falling. An object that had no business being in the sky in the first place. An egg. I felt the impact before I saw it. Nailed me right in the leg. My eyes widened in muted horror. Because all over my brand new most favourite hot pink summer dress, there was bright yellow yolk splattered everywhere. That was the day I was acquainted with the obnoxious neighbour boy. That was the day I met James Livingston.

Naturally, I was livid, if the ear piercing shriek was any indication. I could put any self-respecting banshee to shame. That _animal_ ruined my new dress. My brand new, most-favourite-thing-since-this-morning hot pink summer dress! Ruined! And! He'd cost me an entire _week_ of desserts. This demanded retaliation. Revenge! _Violence_.

I stomped my way over to the towering wooden fence. Rolled my figurative sleeves up. And I _scaled the goddamn fence_. You'd think such a trial would be difficult in my current ensemble. Well, you'd be right. But with undying rage as my fuel, no trial was too difficult. No mountain too high. No fence un-scale-able. Upon making it to the top, I allowed myself a short break, face hot with exertion, surely as red as my hair. I smirked, relishing in my victory. Only to have my heart skip a beat when I toppled right over, into the overgrown, unshaven grass below.

I hastily brushed myself off, a little embarrassed. But nonetheless, I zeroed in on my target. And I marched right up to that neighbour boy, hands planted haughtily on my hips. I identified him immediately. He was obviously the one with the unbrushed, bird nest hair, with the dumbfounded look on his face. He took one look at me, dress stained with pieces of grass sticking out every which way. And he started _howling_. The boy was hysterical, holding his sides as though attempting to hold himself together. And of course, his barbarous goons joined in, guffawing it up. They were clearly patrons of Idiot Village. My face turned beet red for a new reason entirely.

Note: this was also the day I was grounded for the very first time. Seemed it was a day of firsts. My vision narrowed on that no-good bastard having a laugh at my expense, and I could only see red. That was the moment I lost it. Snapped like a particularly dry twig. I closed the distance between us, fists clenched. And promptly delivered a nasty right hook smack dab to the middle of his face. Turns out I threw a pretty mean punch, if the blood gushing out of his nose was any indication. A sight more breathtaking than Niagara falls. Grounded or not, I include that incident in my personal Hall of Fame for Epic Moments. Or HFEM, for short. Pronounced hfem, just as it appears. And no regrets were to be had that day.

But of course, that couldn't possibly be the last I'd see of one James whatever-his-middle-name-is Livingston. Because apparently, he attended my school. How I missed that glaring fact, I will never know. But I digress. Unfortunately, he noticed me the very next day. And his glare may have been a little more intimidating, if only his face didn't resemble an overripe plum. I couldn't suppress a vindictive snicker. But then. An evil smirk slowly made a home on his face. And I was instantly wary. Nothing good could come from such a smirk, on a face as unfortunate as that.

My astute observations proved to be a useful warning after all. Because James refused to leave me alone from that day forward. Pulling my pigtails, spilling paint on my art projects, putting paste in my chair. He became the overly cliché schoolyard bully. In retaliation? Well, let's just say I spent the majority of my elementary years serving detention.

* * *

After eons of prank wars, of bloodied and broken soldiers sent home with permanent emotional turmoil and a pitying pat on the back. Elementary school finally ended. And I moved on to middle school, as is the natural transition. In an undoubtedly impossible turn of events, James Livingston attended a different middle school. No where even near mine! Ha!

And those years, I must say, were the most blissful years of my life. I had fun friends, fun classes, fun club activities. I behaved myself, did my homework, got good grades. It was amazing! Spectacular! Stupendous! And, and- It was the worst experience of my entire lifetime. It was the absolute pits. I've never been so bored in my existence! Middle school was never-ending. It was fricking purgatory, is what it was. Jumping Junipers, why did it have to drag on so? It hurt my soul, my developing brain, my blossoming creative mind. Was I stuck in a time loop? Did I offend the almighty god, somehow, with my childhood shenanigans? Why, why do you torture me so?

Everyone was so goddamn serious, all the time. Like dude. Take a pill. Relax, enjoy the scenery. Get over yourself, it's just middle school. Sheesh.

It was a relief to finally cross the uncrossable canyon, and enter the mighty world that is high school. Finally, something interesting. But of course, _of course,_ that idiot who's middle name I still don't know went to the same school. Seemed we'd come full circle, because here we were again. But good golly, Ms. Molly, was the boy an attractive specimen. Middle school was good to dear old Jamesy, 'cause goddamn. He was smokin'. I'm not ashamed to admit it. The boy was hot. My brain said no, but my pubescent heart said, yes, god, take me now. That traitor.

Now arrives the moment I boarded the cliché train. Excuse me a sec while I vomit in my mouth a little. Because choo choo, here we go. The winter of freshman year, me and James, Jamesy and I- oh god, dare I say it? I dare not. It's too puke-worthy. Better to deny deny deny. Someone has to believe my nasty little lies eventually. Statistics, my friend.

So! Freshman year. Winter. And I know it was winter, 'cause goddamn son, that was a shit-ton of snow. Snow people would have to be made, with crazy weaponry for the upcoming snow war. Ahem. Right, so on such a snowy day, I, Mira Jane, the first, the only of my kind, received detention. Gasp! Are you gasping? Yeah, alright. Pretty typical, gasping is overdone at this point. I remember not why I received such a ghastly punishment, but my shorter than a Cheeto stick fuse likely played a part. So sue me, I have a temper. I hear it's due to the fiery red hair. I'll play into that stereotype if it gets me out of detention.

Well, there I am, in detention, preparing for the nap to beat all naps. And who walks in but! You must know this one. Elmo! Okay, you caught me, it was James. That bastard. Now, I heard through the ever progressive grape vine, that dear Mr. Livingston, the hottest thing since sliced swiss cheese, got into a spat with a classmate. Kelly from P.E. said it turned to blows, but Amy from math class said that was total BS. Who knew really, the rumour mill wasn't overly reliable. The point here is, he was ruining my nap. And I say this because he spent the entire time crumpling up little paper balls and chucking them at my head!

I tried to ignore him, I really did. But remember that little tidbit about my fiery redheaded nature? Turns out the colour extends to my face, because I could feel it heating up like a boiling vat of tomato sauce. His looks may have matured, but sadly his personality did not catch the boat on that one. Pity, with a face like that.

I growled under my breath several times for him to knock it the eff off. Please. Without the please. Sorry, I'm a compulsive liar apparently. He gave me a sorrowful look. Nodded. And then kept at it. It was around this time, that the teacher in charge of this particular detention excused himself, he had to use the facilities immediately. Which was code for, I don't really want to be here, so I need a handy excuse. Pah, I got teacher code down to a science.

I took that golden opportunity to get out of chair, grab that smarmy bastard by the collar, and advise him to knock it the _fuck_ off, lest my fist deemed it necessary to reacquaint itself with his nose.

He then gave me the biggest shit-eating grin a mortal could conjure up, and, I shit you not, suggested we should be friends. Friends! Us! Ha! I laugh at the suggestion. Ha! And then I laugh some more. Hahaha! Okay, that's enough. That was a bigger joke than the gut buster Jerry Coleman told me in second period, and that one had me in stitches.

But I didn't say any of this. Oh no. I went stock still, mouth gaping open. Add a little honey, and I'd soon have a mouth full of beavers. That's how the saying goes, right? Those guys like honey. Beavers or otherwise, I briefly wondered if James had perhaps taken one too many balls to the head in his own P.E. class today.

He then had the nerve, the absolute _gall_ , to place his finger under my chin and close my jaw. Said, "I'll take that as yes." And then sauntered right the hell out of the classroom just as the bell rang, indicating detentions end. Just who did that- that _bumbling buffoon_ think he was! Touching my jaw! Who knows what other manner of balls he'd been touching? Not I.

After I'd collected my wits off the classroom floor, as well as whatever dignity hadn't been burned to a meaty crisp, I resorted to confront that jackoff the next day. And confront him I did. Cheeks puffed up like a chipmunk preparing for hibernation, I stomped right up to him at lunch. I was fully resolved to tell him _exactly how far up_ his self-centered arrogant asshole he could shove his offer. _Fully_ prepared. I'd even written a tasteful script.

Evidently, intentions do not make the woman. And they didn't mean diddly squat. Because the exact opposite happened. Because he challenged me, right then and there, in front of the entire cafeteria. My pride, my dignity, my Cheetos! All these things were on the line. He bet that I could not eat as many cafeteria hotdogs as he could, and if I lost, I would have to give this friendship a fair chance.

Well. I knew for a fact. For a fact! That I could _so_ eat more cafeteria hotdogs than him. I wolfed them down faster than an actual wolf, the entire cafeteria cheering me on. I was on top of the world. I was _killing_ it dude. This proved to be a mistake, not too long after. Because apparently, I _could not_ , in fact, wolf down more hotdogs than the stupid baboon. Apparently he had the dominant wolf-like qualities, and the ravenous appetite, because he was downing those bad boys faster than a monkey with a banana. Foolishly, I'd forgotten that I, a mere mortal, could not possibly beat a true animal.

I did, however, win the prize for most hotdogs wolfed _up_. It was an unpleasant sight for the entire student body. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how James no-middle-name Livingston and I, became _friends_. Oh god, barf. Again. Too many hotdogs.

It was- quite honestly- the strangest friendship I'd ever been a willing participant in. Not much change, pranks were still a thing, and senseless arguments ruled the school. But the weird thing was (the horrifying thing) I actually started to _like_ it. Oh dear sweet Jesus. This is the end. The apocalypse is nigh. Please, lord, no more hotdogs.

The impossible has become possible, who knew. I was a staple figure in the most unorthodox, dysfunctional friendship in my entire history. Somehow, it worked for us.

As time went by, and seasons passed, and wind blew, and snow fell, and Jesus resurrected for his second coming but then left because Kingdom Hearts III wasn't out yet, but don't worry, he'd be back then. And some other poetic nonsense, I'm no Sylvia Plath, people, come on now. Anyways. Arguing with James proved to be what I looked forward to most. Proving him wrong that is, heh. And through our growing friendship, I observed, I learned. I now understand why he is chief of Idiot Village. Although, James is an idiot, no way in Hades is vanilla better than chocolate, what a truly revolting thing to say you sorry excuse for a human being, go back to your time you disgusting troglodyte.

* * *

It was in our junior year, march break I think? Anniversaries are for old people, get off my back. Our friendship was like, superrr old news, so far off the grape vine, we were in the next county. 15 minutes of fame was short indeed. So, on one such day in which I still believe was during march break, I was at his house. This was a normal thing at this point in time.

We were watching a movie, sort of. Arguing about it mostly. It had something to do with barnacles, I think. Or beavers. Definitely something with a B. Or one of the Chris's. I do love my Chris's. s

So I was killing it, hitting all the right moves, dominating this argument. I knew this because James had gone quiet. I was so ready to drink in my triumph, I'd like a curly straw with that please.

Until this idiot swoops in like a bird of prey, and captures my lips with his own. My lips! Not his, mine. And my brain just short-circuited. A 'do not compute, time to buy a new robot' kind of outage. Choo choo no more. Does the brain need more fuel? What is fuel? Who knows?

He looked me dead in the eye then, molten chocolate eyes swallowing mine. Like a lava cake, with that delicious gooey centre I could not resist on pain of death. And, honest to god, to Satan, to Jeffery from down the street, he said to me, "I'm in love with you, I think."

First thought? Damn, I could go for some lava cake. Second: "You think?" I blurted. Shit. Rewind. Error, error. Redo please.

"Uhhh." Better. But not by much.

"I need to vacuum the fish tank!" Annnd she's outta there! 0 for 4! Whooo! God damn it. I don't even have fish.

The day we went back to school was an event let me tell you. I was all dressed up and ready to go. Woo! Let's do this! Why didn't Mama let me stay home. She's working with Jefferey down the street. Knew I shouldn't have trusted that kid. Anywho. Hadn't seen James since that day. Not like I was avoiding his phone calls or anything. Not me. Certainly didn't hide in my closet when he came over. Would never camp out in a tree. Those things just ain't me, bra. False accusations make you a phony. Nobody likes a phony.

Contrary to popular belief, I did have some semblance of a plan. To be enacted at lunch. Because classes shared we did not have. Not relieved or anything. Not procrastinating the inevitable. Come lunch, I rolled up my actual sleeves, propped my hands on my hips, and marched in I did. Should've hired the saxophonists for my entrance, now _those guys_ knew how to jam. He watched me walk over to him. He knew I was the coolest cat in the room. We all did. Please.

In front of this unfairly beautiful boy I stood. Palms sweating, heart racing. Damn, I wish I was beautiful too. Like Moana. Or Samuel L. Jackson. So, yank his collar I did, and I planted a fierce kiss on those stupid lips of his. Angrily. Grrr.

"Did you eat hotdogs before this?"

Only for you, buddy. Only for you.

* * *

If I thought friendship was weird, dating was a whole new level of what the beaver-shit is going on, dudes. But. I discovered a new weapon for my artillery. My lips- these bad boys here, smooch smooch- were _the_ most effective method to win all arguments. Me, the fantastical queen Mira Jane of fairy tale topia land, could short circuit the self-proclaimed brilliant James Livingston's brain. Who'da thunk.

But damn, did the boy have the most adorable freckles perfectly dotted across his nose, onto his cheeks. Speckled with freckles. Also, turns out I really liked holding his hand. A glorified hand heater, the perfect fit for me! These handy hands here would never suffer lower temperatures again, no sir bob.

We dated all through high school. Graduation happened, and so did life. It was time to split, like a banana with ice cream. And sauce. And a cherry. Just as I was really starting to like you, too. Cruel fates, I'm going to miss those freckles! And that hand heater! And your moms fajitas, because holy shiznit could she make some killer fajitas, dude.

The usual promises were made, to see each other on weekends, on breaks. But life happened. School happened. I really tried to make it work. Like sir Percival, I was a valiant mofo. The finest in all the land. But I'm not entirely self-absorbed. I could see how worn the arrangement was making you. You were a total wreck. No need to ruin that beautiful face.

So I ended it.

I truly believed it would be better this way. That you could move on, that I could on, that _we_ could move on. Just a couple of movers, tryna beat UPS as top dog. It was supposed to be better this way. So why did it hurt so much?

You tried to reach me, I acknowledge that. But I've had plenty of time, millennia basically, to perfect my avoidance techniques. A goddamn ninja, I am. A stupid, masochistic ninja with great hair. Just leave it alone Jamesy. It's for the best.

A month in, and my heart still hurt like a mother. Stupid, useless organ. What are you even good for? Beating? Get the hell out of here.

I don't know how, and I don't know why, (Or when or what or where) but somehow my so-called friend people talked me into going to what is dubbed a 'frat party'. I just wanted to eat my bagelwich in peace and brood in my own muck, what's wrong with you people? Is that so much to ask? Apparently. They made me shower! The inhumanity! The water, it burns us! And soon enough (too soon) I was all dolled up and ready to go. Am I a pimp? You bet your fricking panties I'm not! What's a pimp even do? What's the job description? I'd like an itemized list, to be delivered to my desk bright and early Tuesday evening.

I tried to enjoy the party. Honest. Mostly honest. Pfft, I'm a compulsive liar, honesty is a difficult concept. The music was too loud and it was all like rap or something, singing about horses I think. No thank you I would not like to "neigh neigh" I'm not a bloody pony. And the drinks made my head feel fuzzy, like a freshly opened can of mountain Dew. Dew the dew dewd. And it was _hot_. Jaysus, outside please.

I just wanted to forget. Just for a few hours. But my mind wouldn't shut it's goddamn hole, and my heart was in direct alignment with it's stupid opinions. A pair of traitors, those two.

I sat down along the side of the building, cradling my head in my hands like one of those people on those dramatic TV shows. How far the mighty have fallen. A rude man cleared his throat. Any guesses? Well, it was _James_! Obviously! He looked mighty unimpressed when he said, "Are you done being stupid now?"

I choked on a sob. "No." but I buried my head in his chest anyways, basking in the warmth, in the smell. "You been eating hotdogs?"

"Only for you, baby," he murmured into my hair.

* * *

It was at his graduation that the idiot baboon asked me to join him in unholy matrimony. Apparently, he was an intelligent baboon, seeing as he was valedictorian and all. Who knew. I was actually impressed. For an entire minute. But then he got down on one knee, right in the middle of his profound(ly) boring speech, in front of the whole goddamn school. And this fool asked me to marry him.

I stood up, sputtering like an otter drinking a glass of mayonnaise. Face stereotypically flaming red, redder than my hair times _four_. I shouted things at him. Something involving canaries? It ended in yes. And no tears. Tears are for wimps and Jefferey. And I ain't no Jefferey.

And the rest, as they say, is-

"What are you doing?"

Warms arms wrapped around my torso, I leaned back in my stool, head hitting rock hard abs. Ha. Not. Makes for a terrible pillow. Brown eyes gazed down into mine, swallowing me into molten pools.

"You're drooling," he noted.

I nodded. "Cake."

He rolled his eyes. "Still in the fridge. Don't avoid the question."

Stupid Baboon. "Well, if you must know," I sniffed pretentiously, pulling away. "I am in the midst of writing an epic tale of adventure! Intrigue! Suspense!" I cleared my throat dramatically. "Our life story!"

He snorted. "Excuse me? Lemme see." He made a grab for the notebook.

I snatched it away. Ninja. Still got the skills. "Get the hell outta here, James no-middle-name Livingston."

"You know my middle name, Mira Jane Livingston."

"Ewww, don't say that again. That's gross." I gagged.

" _You're_ gross." Then he shoved me out of chair. I fell over with a loud squawk of indignation. James cackled, successfully grabbing the notebook as he ran off. "Let's see what fun things Mrs. Livingston has decided to write. About my rock hard abs, perhaps?"

"Stop calling me that, it's gross! And give that back! If you plagiarize it I'm calling the police! Then you'll be sorry!"


End file.
